That's true, I suppose." Sparhawk took a sip of beer. It was cloudy, but it was about the best he had ever tasted.

Wat leaned back in his chair, scratching at his chest.

"Fact of the matter is, friend, that the battle was just too big fer any one man't' see it all. I pretty much know what went on around here, an' Farsh, he knows what went on down around the village an' on south. We all know in a general sorta way what happened overall, but when y' want to get down to spesific's y gotta talk with somebody as lives fairly close to where it actual happened."

Sparhawk sighed. "It's just a matter of pure luck, then," he said glumly. We could ride right past the man who knows the story and never even think to ask him."

"Now, that's not entirely true, friend," Wat disagreed.

"Us fellers as like to swap stories, we knows one another. Old Farsh, he sent y''t' me, an' I kin send y' on to another feller I know in Paler up there in Pelosia. He's gonna know a lot more about what went on up there than I do, an' he'll know others as knows even more about what went on close't' where they live. That's what I meant when I said y' was followin' the right trail. All y' need t' do is go from feller't' feller until y' git the story y' want. It's a lot faster'n diggin' up all of northern Pelosia or Deira."

"You might be right at that."

The wall-eyed man grinned crookedly. "Not meanin' no offence, yer worship, but you gentle-folk think that us commoners don't know nothin', but when y' stack us all together, there's not very much in this world we don't know."

"I'll remember that," Sparhawk said. "Who's this man in Paler?"

"He's a tanner, name of Berd- silly name, but Pelosians is like that. His tanyard's just outside the north gate of the city. They wouldn't let him set up inside the walls on accounta the smell, y' know. You go see Berd, an' if he don't know the story y' want to hear, he'll probably know somebody as does - or at least somebody as kin tell yr who y' oughtta talk to."

Sparhawk rose to his feet. "Wat," he said, "you've been a real help." He handed the fellow a few coins. "The next time you go to the village, have yourself a few tankards of beer, and if you run into Farsh, buy him one too."

"Why, thankee, yer worship," Wat said. "I most surely will. An' good luck in yer search."

"Thank you." Then Sparhawk remembered something.

"I'd like to buy some firewood from you, if you can spare any." He handed Wat a few more coins.

"Why, certainly, yer worship. Come along to the barn, an' I'll show you where it's stacked."

"That's all right, Wat," Sparhawk smiled. "We've already got it. Come along, Talen."

The rain had stopped entirely when Sparhawk and Talen came out of the house, and they could see blue sky out over the lake to the west.

"You had to go and do that, didn't you?" Talen said in a disgusted tone of voice.

"He was very helpful, Talen," Sparhawk said defensively.

"That has nothing to do with it. Did we really get very far with this?"

"It was a start," Sparhawk replied. "Wat may not look very bright, but he's really very shrewd. The plan of going from storyteller to storyteller is about the best we've come up with so far."

"It's going to take a while, you know."

"Not as long a while as some of the other notions we've had."

"The time wasn't wasted then."

"We'll know better after we talk with that tanner in Paler."

Ulath and Berit had strung a rope near the fire and were hanging wet clothes over it when Sparhawk and the boy returned to camp. "Any luck?" Ulath asked.

"Some, I hope," Sparhawk replied. "It's fairly certain that King Sarak didn't get this far south. It seems that ""there was a lot more fighting up in Pelosia and Deira than Bevier read about."

"What next, then?"

"We go to the town of Paler up in Pelosia and talk to a tanner named Berd. If he hasn't heard about Sarak, he can probably send us on to someone who has. How's Tynian?"

"He's still asleep. Bevier's awake, though, and Sephrenia got him to drink some soup."

"That's a good sign. Let's go inside and talk with her. Now that the weather's clearing, I think it's safe to move on."

They trooped into the tent, and Sparhawk repeated the gist of what Wat had said.

"The plan has merit, Sparhawk," Sephrenia approved.

"How far is it to Paler?"

"Talen, go and get my map, would you?"

"Why me?"

"Because I asked you to."

"Oh. All right."

"Just the map, Talen," Sparhawk added. "Don't take anything else out of the pack."

The boy returned after a few moments, and Sparhawk unfolded the map. "All right," he said. "Paler's up here at the north end of the lake - just across the Pelosian border.

I make it about ten leagues."

"That wagon won't move very fast," Kurik told him, "and we don't want to jolt these men around. It's probably going to take at least two days."

"At least once we get them to Paler we should be able to find a physician for them," Sephrenia said.

"We really don't have to use the wagon," Bevier objected. His face was pale, and he was sweating profusely. "Tynian is much better, and Kalten and I aren't hurt that badly. We can ride."

"Not while I'm giving the orders, you can't," Sparhawk told him. "I'm not going to gamble your lives just to save a few hours." He went to the door of the tent and looked out. "It's coming on to evening," he noted. "We'll all get a good nights sleep and start out first thing in the morning."

Kalten grunted and sat up painfully. "Good," he said.

"Now that that's settled, what's for supper?"

After they had eaten, Sparhawk went out and sat by the fire. He was staring morosely into the flames when Sephrenia joined him. "What is it, dear one?" she asked him.

"Now that I've had time to think about it, this is a really far-fetched notion, isn't it? We could wander around Pelosia and Deira for the next twenty Years listening to old men tell stories."

"I don't really think so, Sparhawk," she disagreed.

"Sometimes I get hunches - little flashes of the future.

Somehow I feel that we're on the right course."

"Hunches, Sephrenia?" he said with some amusement.

"Maybe a little stronger than that, but it's a word that Elenes wouldn't understand."

"Are you trying to say you can actually see into the future?"

She laughed. "Oh, no," she replied. "Only the Gods can do that, and even they're imperfect at it. About all I can really perceive is when something's right and when it isn't. This somehow feels right. There's one other thing, too," she added. The ghost of Aldreas told you that the time has come for Bhelliom to emerge again. I know what Bhelliom is capable of. It can control things in ways we can't even imagine. If it wants us to be the ones who find it, nothing on earth will be able to stop us. I think you might find that the storytellers up there in Pelosia and Deira will tell us things they've thought they've forgotten, and even things they never knew."

"Isn't that just a little mystic?"

"Styrics are mystics, Sparhawk. I thought you knew that."

Chapter 11

They slept late the following morning. Sparhawk awoke before daybreak, but decided to let his companions rest.

They had been long on the road, and the horror of the previous day had taken its toll. He went out some way from the tents to watch the sun rise. The sky overhead was clear, and the stars were still out. Despite Sephrenia's assurances the previous evening, Sparhawk's mood was sombre. When they had begun, the sense that their cause was just and noble had led him to believe that somehow they would prevail against almost anything. The events of the previous day, however, had proved to him just how wrong he had been about that. He would venture anything to bring his pale young queen back to health, even to the point of throwing his own life into the struggle, but did he have the right to risk his friends?

"What's the problem?" He recognized Kurik's voice without looking around.

"I don't know, Kurik," he admitted. "It all feels as if I'm trying to hold sand in my fist, and this plan of ours doesn't really make much sense, does it? Trying to track down five-hundred-year-old stories is really rather absurd, don't you think?"

"No, Sparhawk," Kurik said, "not really. You could run around northern Pelosia or Deira with a spade for the next two hundred years and not even come close to Bhelliom. The farmer was right, you know. Trust the people, My Lord. In many ways, the people are wiser than the nobility - or even the Church, for that matter."

Kurik coughed uncomfortably. "You don't necessarily have to tell Patriarch Dolmant I said that," he amended.

"Your secret is safe, my friend." Sparhawk smiled.

There's something we're going to have to talk about."

"Oh?"

"Kalten, Bevier and Tynian are more or less out of action."

"You know, I believe you're right."

That's a bad habit, Kurik."

"Aslade says the same thing."

"Your wife's a wise woman. All right. Part of our success in getting around difficulties has been the presence of men in armour. Most people don't interfere with the Knights of the Church. The trouble is that now there's only going to be Ulath and me."

"I can count, Sparhawk. What's your point?"

"Could you fit into Bevier's armour?"

"Probably. It might not be very comfortable, but I could adjust the straps a bit. The point, though, is that I won't do it."

"What's the problem, you've worn armour on the practice field."

That was on the field. Everybody knew who I was, and they knew why I was doing it. This is out in the world, and that's altogether different."

"I really don't see the distinction, Kurik."

"There are laws about that sort of thing, Sparhawk.

Only knights are permitted to wear armour, and I'm not a knight."

The difference is very slight."

"But it's still a difference."

"You're going to make me order you to do this, aren't you?"

"I wish you wouldn't."

"I wish I didn't have to. I'm not trying to offend you, but it involves our safety. You'll wear Bevier's armour, and I think we can stuff Berit into Kalten's. He's worn mine before, and Kalten and I are about the same size."

"You're going to insist, then?"

"I don't really have any choice. We've got to get through to Paler without any incidents along the way. I've got some injured men, and I don't want to risk them."

"I understand the reasons, Sparhawk. I'm not stupid, after all. I don't like it, but you're probably right."

"I'm glad we agree."

"Don't get too ecstatic about it. I want it clearly understood that I'm doing this under protest."

"If there's ever any trouble about it, I'll swear to that."

"That's assuming you're still alive," Kurik replied sourly. "You want me to wake the others?"

"No. Let them sleep. You were right last night. It's going to take two days to get to Paler. That gives us a little time to play with."

"You're very worried about time, aren't you, Sparhawk?"

"We've only got so much of it left," Sparhawk replied somberly. This business of running around listening to old men tell stories is likely to chew up a great deal of it. It's coming up to the point where another one of the twelve knights is going to die, and he'll give his sword to Sephrenia. You know how that weakens her."

"She's a lot stronger than she looks. She could probably carry as much as you and I put together." Kurik glanced back towards the tents. "I'll go and build up the fire and put her tea-kettle on to boil. She usually wakes up early."

And he went back towards the camp.

Ulath, who had been standing watch nearby, loomed out of the shadows. "That was a very interesting conversation," he rumbled.

"You heard, then?"

"Obviously. Voices carry a long way at night."

"You don't approve - about the armour, I mean?"

"It doesn't bother me, Sparhawk. We're a lot less formal in Thalesia than you are down here. A fair number of Genidian Knights are not, strictly speaking, of noble birth." He grinned, his teeth flashing. "We usually wait until King Wargun is roaring drunk and then file them in so he can bestow titles on them. Several of my friends are barons of places that don't even exist." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sometimes I think this whole nobility business is a farce anyway. Men are men - titled or not. I don't think God cares, so why should we?"

"You're going to stir up a revolution talking like that, Ulath."

"Maybe it's time for one. It's starting to get light over there." Ulath pointed towards the eastern horizon.

"Right. It looks as if we might have good weather today."

"Check with me this evening, and I'll let you know."

"Don't people in Thalesia try to predict the weather?"

"Why? You can't do anything about it. Why don't we go and have a look at your map? I know a bit about ships and currents and prevailing winds and the like. It could just be that I can make some guesses about where King Sarak made his landfall. We might be able to figure out which route he took. That could narrow things down just a bit."

"Not a bad idea," Sparhawk agreed. "If we can work that out, at least we'll have some idea of where to start asking questions." Sparhawk hesitated. "Ulath," he said seriously, "Is Bhelliom really as dangerous as they say it is?"

"Probably even more so. Ghwerig made it, and he's not really very pleasant - even for a Troll."

"You said "Is". Don't you mean "was"? He's dead by now, isn't he?"